“Yes, we all brought flats in our bags,” said Orla. “Though I don’t know why you insist on us going on that bicycle thing. We’ll be horrible and sweaty by the time we’re done.”

“That’s the whole point. A hen party is about having a laugh, not strutting about looking like you just stepped off the pages of a fashion magazine.”

Orla arched a brow as she looked me up and down. “Maybe not for you.”

I bit my tongue as I turned away from her, knowing later on I’d be grateful for the simple jeans, T-shirt, and Converse I’d decided to wear. Placing my hand momentarily to my chest, I felt a strange sort of comfort as I felt Sean’s pendent resting beneath my top.

I handed out the stripy jumpers, hats, and fake glasses, and after Annie exclaimed her delight at the silly costumes, the rest of the ladies soon put their prejudices aside and joined in on the fun.

The Pedibus was sort of like a tandem bike, except it was more of an open-air tram with a table in the middle. We all had to cycle to keep the thing moving, with a driver at the front to steer us in the right direction around the city. We got a ton of honks and shouts of approval and I was delighted to see Annie was having a blast.

Broderick was wedged in between two WAGS, but he seemed happy enough to chat with them. That was kind of what I loved about him, no matter the environment, he’d always find some way to ingratiate himself.

I almost lost my footing on the pedals for a second when I felt my phone vibrate inside my jeans. Pulling it out to check the message, I found it was from Sean.

Sean: Half the boys are already loaded and it’s only six. Although there’s supposed to be a stripper arriving soon so things could be looking up. Literally ;-) How’s your evening going?

This was the first time he’d texted me since his odd message about Ronan yesterday. I felt an unexpected pang of annoyance and jealousy at the idea of him ogling some booblicious stripper, but was happy to hear from him no matter the context.

Lucy: Great, aside from Orla Flanagan kicking up a fuss about my plans for the night. She wanted the girls to wear jerseys with their other half’s names on the back. Kill me now.

Sean: Well, you could’ve worn mine ;-)

Lucy: Ha! That wouldn’t create a shitstorm of unnecessary drama at all.

Sean: I dunno. I kinda like the idea of you wearing my jersey…and nothing else.

Lucy: Why am I not surprised?

Sean: Because you like the idea, too.

Sean: Come to my place later.

I inhaled, momentarily flustered as to how to respond. In the end I went with an easy excuse to be noncommittal.

Lucy: I don’t know your address.

Sean: I’ll text it to you.

Lucy: Let me think about it. I’m not sure what time we’re finishing up. It could be really late.

Sean: I don’t care how late it is.

Annie elbowed me in the side, distracting me from the message. I startled slightly before tucking the phone back in my pocket.

“Everything all right?” she asked.

“Fine and dandy. You enjoying yourself?”

“I’m having a great time. Plus, I’ll feel so much better about gorging on sushi later since I’ve earned it with all this exercise.” She paused to lower her voice. “Your mom has already been warning me about the dangers of not fitting into my dress on the day of the wedding.”

I leveled her with a serious look, making sure to lower my voice as well since Mam was sitting just a few seats away. “Never listen to my mother. If she had her way we’d all be going around looking emaciated.”

Annie barked a laugh. “Don’t worry, I have no intention of giving up my beloved pastime of eating. It’s a good thing your brother likes the curvy gals.” Now she gave me a sassy wink.

“Please, no talk of Ronan’s sexual preferences in front of me. I don’t want to vomit up the champagne I drank back at the house.”

“Believe me, there’s absolutely nothing barf-worthy about your brother and sex, absolutely nothing.”

She was doing it on purpose now. I held my hands over my ears. “Yes, yes, we all know how happy you are in the bedroom. Just keep the details to yourself, please.”

Annie laughed loudly. “You’re too easy sometimes.”

When we arrived at the restaurant, I was delighted that the cycling had made the WAGS hungry for carbs, so I wouldn’t have to sit through them all ordering salad with no dressing. Mam had wrangled her way into a chair beside Rick and was being a little too flirtatious for my liking. My friend seemed vaguely bewildered by her attention, and since I knew (but wished I didn’t) that my mother had developed a taste for boy toys in recent years, I cast her a sharp, disapproving glance that said, please don’t.

She pretended she hadn’t seen, the wagon.

A waiter went around the table, pouring glasses of sake as we all perused the menu. After we’d eaten our fill it was time for karaoke, which I adored even though I didn’t have a note in my head. I managed to lure Annie up onto the stage so we could sing “Talk Dirty” by Jason Derulo, which was just hilarious since she blushed through the whole thing.

Rick shook his head at my corny choice of song but I just stuck my tongue out at him, the big music snob. Besides, I knew he found it funny because I could see him trying not to laugh.

Orla, drunk on sake, stood on her chair and filmed us on her phone. I knew the video would probably find its way onto Facebook but I was having too much fun to care.